


100% Reputation

by GeneralLoki



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), overwatch
Genre: Cute, First Meeting, Fluff, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, jokes abound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralLoki/pseuds/GeneralLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic about the first time Hanzo and McCree meet on a mission. How do all the little things they’ve heard about each other play into that first moment? Everything they’d heard about each other sounded all the warning bells. It was going to be trouble one way or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	100% Reputation

They had not yet crossed. An affiliation in Overwatch meant you maybe met with every member and maybe you didn't. They were spread pretty thin recently; no one was surprised they hardly knew much beyond name for the other. Names and always second hand stories. 

Twin summons drew a pair of agents to New Mexico. They had not met in person, but familiarity came in handfuls of tales from other agents. 

McCree was something of a name. A figure with plenty of stories, but at the same time like a ghost. Hanzo recognized him mostly as a blip on the map, an overheard conversation, a heavy sigh and a wrinkle in someone's face (typically the doctor's—that poor woman). The woman who fell under the call sign of Tracer had mentioned him a few times on an excursion because they had met days prior. She said she'd been contemplating coffee and before she could get to it, there McCree was, some already fresh brewed to share. Some kind of joke about beating a time traveler to the punch muddled around in there. In all honesty, Hanzo probably missed it. Reasonable, considering he'd been taking a shot—bow taut in his hands. But the man felt like that—a missed punchline, the latter half of a story he missed the beginning of. The flesh and blood presence of legends left a sheer plastic film around conversations in Overwatch—breaking through would take heavy puncturing. It didn't feel like his place to intervene. 

Something about that sense of distance between Hanzo and the rest of the world around him radiated off him in an aura—rippling the air around him vaguely. That could have been the heat of the desert too. Jesse felt confident in saying it was a little of both—especially in that first meeting. The actuality of Hanzo and his idea of Hanzo didn't exactly fit together picture perfect, but that single moment where eyes met for the initial time and they faced each other he got a sense of a little more than just “quiet, serious, 'maybe not a fan of jokes.'” Everyone failed to mention the sort of power in Hanzo's gaze—one he couldn't break from as they stepped up to one another, falling under the shade of cabin who's other face was the unfortunate mark for a heavy stroke of sunlight, tipping toward the horizon, but still warm in the way only a late southern afternoon could be. 

An old truck rumbled by, kicking up a fresh swirl of dust. The truck passed loudly ahead and still neither knew how to begin this conversation. There was no mistaking the other—not after so much hearsay. Did they need to bother with the formalities? 

Jesse hesitated a second before he cracked. Might as well be him. He tipped his hat up slightly and gave Hanzo a crooked little smile. Anything to start this. “Afternoon, it's a pleasure meetin' ya'...Mr. Shimada, maybe?” 

Something about Hanzo's name twisted up in this man's tongue left him feeling strange—from more than the slight mispronunciation. He shook his head slightly. “Hanzo will be fine. I understand you are McCree then?” 

“That'll do me jus' fine. But friends call me Jesse. Either's good,” Jesse offered in return, still smiling. He didn't recognize his own blunder nor did he seem to care. Maybe he didn't. It left Hanzo with an odd impression. They had just met, this man was supposed to be some kind of shooting legend, and yet he couldn't help feeling that maybe he was kind of an idiot. 

“Very well. I should like to begin as soon as possible. The plan continues as scheduled?” Hanzo asked seriously. They had time, but he had no desire to linger chattering.

Jesse noted that pretty quickly and checked his phone, thumbing through it for a moment. “Yup, looks like everythin's a go. Yer a lil' early though so we're gonna need to hang tight here a few minutes. If you wanna have yerself a seat...” He started to pitch, but Hanzo gave him a look that said “stop.” 

“I would rather get into position. Can you arrange that?” 

Jesse's eyes trailed up, sight on the less imposing brim of his hat. Absently, a gloved hand settled at his chin. He had a couple ideas, but he didn't exactly want to make a stir. Still, that matter was on his list of things to do. “I gotcha. Wait here a secon'.” With that he charged down the street with both purpose and nonchalance, turning into another chalky looking building—this one a bar a little down the block. Hanzo found himself staring at the trail of dust the odd man left behind him. The door swung open and just as it started to close the shattering of glass and a meaty drop could be heard. A few seconds later McCree walked right back out of the bar like he'd done nothing. In one hand he clasped a pair of keys. He made his way over to a sandy old jeep tucked around the corner. 

It took some self-spurring on, but Hanzo hurried forward to find McCree already over the vehicle, starting to pry open the back doors—those new keys serving to help. 

“Are you stealing this?” Hanzo asked up front, honestly surprised. He understood McCree had some less than pleasant work under his belt, but this seemed a bit much for a man everyone spoke of fairly positively in that regard.

The expression that came with McCree's answer was difficult to describe. Maybe a little amused, but at least bothered a touch. “Yes an' no. Reach in, pull on the back seat,” he said instead of explaining. It was precisely the kind of answer Hanzo didn't want, but he reached through the window space and pulled on the seat. The fairly small piece detached easily in his grip and underneath in, filling the back bed of the car was a mess of weaponry. 

“Caught the guy makin' his lil' trade earlier. I was gonna clean this up while you waited, but...two birds, one stone right? I'll finish this up after our mission,” Jesse said once the goods were out in the open. “Fer now, we got a ride. Back up can catch up.” 

Jesse keyed open the driver's side and dropped himself into the seat, getting comfortable and taking a break to fish around his pockets for a fresh cigar. Might as well get one in while they were on the way. Hanzo watched this casual flair with interest. He gave the weaponry in the back one last glance before lowering the chairs to their original position. This was not how he anticipated this going. 

“Shotgun's yer's, if thas' fine,” McCree half-asked, half-fiddled with getting the cigar lit. 

“I have my own weapon,” Hanzo answered as he let himself in, cautious of this vehicle now. 

McCree nearly dropped his cigar as he started laughing. “Naw, I mean sittin' in the seat yer in. Figure you don't wanna sit in the hot spot back there. Unless you wanted to drive?” 

Hanzo's faced muddled—that steely exterior actually cracked for a brief moment. It was one Jesse couldn't miss; the quirk in his brow, the confused light in his eyes. He did get Tracer's warning about not getting jokes now at least. But at least Hanzo was kind of amusing when he wasn't getting it. Maybe a tiny bit cute. Definitely not the time to notice that though. 

“A figure of speech was in there somewhere,” Hanzo identified, annoyed. 

“My bad, honestly. Kinda confusin' considerin' our new cargo.” 

“You had a poor choice of words.” 

“Ain't that the story of my life?” 

Their first real conversation was interrupted by a loud crash from the bar McCree had only just left a moment ago. The gunman's eyes widened for a brief second as he recognized the noise.

“Well, thas' a barfight brewin'. I'm not havin' any of that. You mind if I get us rollin'?” he asked Hanzo's way—the latter watching the fight start to spill out of the building. One of the fighters was likely to be the one who got acquainted with McCree's fist and recovered enough to make a ruckus now.

Hanzo watched the exchange of blows over his shoulder and around the frame of the vehicle. “That was what I asked for originally,” he answered after a second of intake. 

As the old engine sputtered and kicked up with McCree's turn of the key, a conversation snapped into the front of Hanzo's memory. A talk briefly between himself and mostly carried by Mercy. The figure of the doctor slumped slightly over her desk, her fingers through her hair in a crumpled mess around her bangs. She sighed and said, “it's difficult for me to explain, but things just seem to happen around Jesse. I would not call it a curse, but...he always seems to be in the right place at the wrong time.” He couldn't recall what McCree had supposedly done; however, he imagined it was injuring himself considering who had to deal with him. 

The jeep tore through the grit and yet Hanzo could still see the squabbling behind them. The doctor's words started to make sense. He couldn't have been here more than a few hours and he'd managed to get involved with a weapons bust and a bar fight. How did all his missions not end crashing and burning? 

The intensity of Hanzo's gaze bored into the side of McCree's skull in a way he couldn't exactly ignore. He was driving and clearly mostly focused on that. That itch to talk a little more still pushed him though. He shifted slightly and clutched his cigar between two metallic fingers on his left hand, the rest of the hand occupied with the steering wheel. 

“So, yer kinda new to the gang an' all—got any questions 'er anythin'?” McCree offered awkwardly. That seemed about right, friendly enough too. 

Hanzo's staring eased back and he focused on the dusty old road they drove onto instead. “Nothing urgent. I have been assisting for some weeks now. The pace is...frantic. And this sort of teamwork takes some getting used to.” 

“I hear ya'. I was no good at the start myself. I screwed up a hell of a lot. But I guess yer kind of a pro already so no awkward newbie phase fer you, huh?” McCree laughed a little, his tone more at ease, welcoming even. 

It put Hanzo into a slightly more casual manner as he rested more easily in the seat. Maybe it was something about the feeling of hot wind rushing over him or the dust clouding up under them. Somehow he could only picture McCree in this setting; with the gusts billowing the brim of his hat, the trail of gray smoke at his fingers where his cigar somehow remained lit. Where else did this ridiculous man belong? Then again, he could probably make himself at home anywhere. 

“Not exactly, no. I cannot help but wonder if it will hold me back. The scale of this sort of action seems difficult to organize,” Hanzo admitted. His hands rested, but tensed slightly in his lap. 

A thoughtful hum. “Dunno honestly. We're makin' it work so far. Maybe I'm jus' biased 'cuz I'm an old timer, but give us a chance. We're only getting' started here.” Jesse paused for a self-conscious second before going on. “I'm not here to tell you what you oughta do, but if yer aimin' to get somethin' good done, this is gonna be the place. I got a feelin' we're gonna be pullin' major weight soon.” 

The jeep soared over the dry road—the engine running smoother now that they'd really gotten going—even if Jesse had a heavy boot to the accelerator. Hanzo almost preferred to focus on that noise and rattling over the road to thinking on that answer very hard. 

Rather than force Hanzo to reply to that, McCree went on. That seemed like the right thing to do, considering the intensity of his gaze now fixed on the hood of the jeep. Joining this group always came with baggage. Best not to pry. “I was a real piece of work when I got pulled into this. It was damn good to me though. Kinda nice gettin' called back. I've been wanderin' cleanin' up jobs here an' there but it ain't got the same feelin' to it that Overwatch's got.” Pieces of him wanted to forget the whole thing—mostly the break up. It all didn't feel real some days. Hanzo speaking up shook him out of getting too caught up in memories. 

“Are you not still a piece of work?” Hanzo suggested with such an offhand tone Jesse was sure he'd said something else. 

Was that a joke? Surely it was a joke. 

Jesse watched every handsome inch of Hanzo's face for a few seconds. Barely at the corner of his lips, he caught it: the edge of a smirk. Laughter tumbled out of McCree's mouth, his head tilted back. They were lucky the road shot straight and didn't house any traffic right then. 

“Point taken. I can't even tell ya' no. I get the feelin' my friends are not tellin' you the best stories about me.” 

Hanzo let himself laugh slightly with amusement he'd managed to keep down until McCree caught on. “Perhaps not. You have something of a reputation.” 

That accusation went both ways between them; however, Jesse kept that particular note to himself. Maybe it was worth it to be the person armed with the one excellent Hanzo story. The guy could tell a joke. And smile. And laugh. It was at his own joke, but Jesse was willing to give that one a pass. 

“Yer gonna have to tell me what you heard.” 

“We may need a longer drive for such a thing,” Hanzo said. Maybe there was something about this McCree. What he couldn't wrap his mind around just yet. 

As they traded gazes once more, something felt particularly different. Easier maybe. Perhaps all this teaming up business was not so bad.


End file.
